


What Peace There May be in Silence

by Gadhar



Category: The Expendables
Genre: Explicit Language, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2497274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/pseuds/Gadhar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s the one in chains, he must be the enemy. Why would the guard care?</p>
<p>“Lee?” The guard asks.</p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Go Placidly Amid the Noise and Haste

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, so, Hoggoth knows I should not be putting out another WIP but.....Yeah. 
> 
> I've had this in the works for a few months, since August I think. 37 pages and counting on the google docs. Anyway, I'm posting it because I'm trying to distance myself from other depressing fics I'm currently working on. And maybe posting will give me some motivation to actually _finish_ this.

Lee checks the locks, makes sure he can hear the tumblers move and then he slides under the covers, keeps a 1911 under the mattress, and adjusts his grip on the knife under his pillow.

This is not something he does every night, not by a longshot. 

His small dingy house is in the middle of nowhere for a reason. There's hardly a paper trail on his possessions for a reason. 

He's not paranoid, not yet. But there's a certain amount of nerves that alight after a mission like that. They used to keep him up at night, have him crouched in silence in a dark corner, weapons at the ready. Just in case, always just in case.

He's not nearly that bad now, not such a rookie. But tonight, tonight he'll make an exception.  
It wasn't really the mission, just the nerves really. Sometimes it all comes crashing down on your conscience. And there's a system in place, Gunner with Yin, Toll with Caesar...

Him and Barney.

He's got Barney's number committed to memory—both of them, all of them, whatever ones apply—and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't stared at the phone for a good hour, bouncing between his options. 

In the end, there was one.

There was only ever one.

So he dropped the phone on the counter and went to bed.

Stonebanks still has everyone messed up, and Lee thinks that maybe that's part of it. The other parts he's not so sure about, just long histories he supposes. 

Ghosts calling and chains rattling. 

The usual. 

xxx

They came in the night, fast and well-trained. 

He never saw it coming.

He's one man but they had gone all out.

He remembers the flashes, hands seizing his arms as he went for his gun. Flash grenades bouncing off the walls, a grenade blowing a hole in the floor he just fixed.

They hadn't even wasted time with a fight.

They held him down and stuck a needle in his neck.


	2. And Remember What Peace There May be in Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And barring that, hope that his team will come get him.
> 
> Because that's what they're fucking _for._

There is something different. 

About this situation, that is.

Something that separates this kidnapping apart from the others. Something that has torn whatever cold black thing that is there in place of his heart into nothingness. Something that has taken his hope.

And Lee Christmas realizes that it is just that.

His hope.

Taken.

In his line of work, many things can happen. Plans don't go off without a hitch, people don't walk away unscathed. 

Some people don't walk away at all.

But somehow, throughout every crap situation he's been in, there has always been hope.

Hope the bad guys will mess up.

Hope that he'll find a weakness.

Hope that he'll exploit it.

Hope that he can get free and crack a few skulls.

And barring that, hope that his team will come get him.

Because that's what they're fucking _for._

But now, with the steel tie-down that has his hands and feet chained, no apparent keyholes to pick (not that he can even use his hands) and the extreme exhaustion that is pulling at his eyelids—

There is no hope. 

Lee had thought it had only been two days, and then the bastards who're holding him told him it had been a week. 

He was so sure they were lying, until he saw the paper the guard inside his cell was reading.

_"Why the fuck do you read those things?"_

_"They're educational."_

_"And you give a shit about education?"_

_"Hey. I'll have you know I did the school shtick. And I was pretty damn well off."_

_"Oh yeah? Well me too, but the crap they put in those papers is nothing but blown-out-of-proportioned bad news."_

_Barney flips the page with a flourish, his eyes on Lee's the entire time. And then he flips the paper around, sticks it so close under Lee's nose he can smell the ink of the print. "Tell me that don't warm your heart, you prick."_

_**Small Labrador puppy found out as meat napper of local food trucks** _

_"...Fuck you."_

Barney's paper had said January 18th two days ago. No, 7 days ago. 8? No, 7. Has to be 7.   
Because two days ago the guard's paper said January 23rd, so today was the 25th. 7 days.

7 days.

They stopped feeding him four days ago.

That's not a big deal, not really. He's getting to the point where the sharp hunger pains are dying to a constant dull ache that only flares when he moves. And he can last quite a bit longer, he's sure of it. He just has to stay focused.

Lee's more concerned about the water anyway. 

The guards toy with him, they give and they take when, and as, they please. It doesn't matter what the boss says (because there has to be a boss for an outfit this organized), if a guard is hungry they take his food.

They're supposed to be keeping him alive. It's textbook torture methods, to get information. But he's worrying now. 

As organized as they are, they're also stupid.

Classic meatheads, all muscle no brain, and they follow orders to a T until basic needs get in the way.

Like being hungry.

Still, it's the water and it's the stupidity that has him worried.

He hasn't drank anything since....6 hours now, no, 8. Shit, he doesn't even know how long he was out earlier, when they kicked him around some, it could have been longer.

These morons may accidentally kill him before their boss gets his information.

And that's the real thing, isn't it? He's been here seven days and not a single fucker has asked him a question, not even his damn name. 

Not that they'd care but there's been no interaction at all. 

They come in and feed him when they like, give him water when they like, or they beat him bloody and laugh. And then one guard sits down in that chair, Lee thinks maybe 40 paces off, and never says a word. Never even looks his way.

Lee's not sure how good these guys are, combat-wise, but they're trained in obedience for sure. 

He watches the guard in the chair, it's the guy he only ever sees rarely. They all wear face masks but the build, the body type itself, is one he doesn't see too often in the guards that usually sit there.

Lee gave up talking to them awhile ago. At first it was calm conversation, he was even damn near polite. It never does well to move immediately into anger. But they never replied, so he moved up to insults, trying to get a rise, trying to get something. 

Anything. 

And when that didn't work, when his body started to feel weak and he stopped being able to feel his hands, then he got angry. Because stability of mind started to slip. He bitched and complained, he hurled insults and fought viciously against everything. And he goaded them, practically begged them to knife him in the gut, to kick that much harder, to hit that much harder.

_"Come on you fuckers! Is that all ya got? I'm disappointed. What are you? Prissy little bitches? Sucking on your bitch of a mother's tit still?"_

Lee can admit, to himself, he lost it a little there. He hadn't lost hope, not then, not yet, but, he was on the cusp of it, he supposes. And now, 2 days after that, he is convinced, there is no hope. There is nothing. Right now, as he closes his eyes against the pain in his temples, he just wants to survive. Survive long enough to punch someone, to bite an ear off or- 

_Do something._

Lee can die, not just physically and because it's reality, but because he honestly thinks he can—that he's _ready_ —to die. He's lived a fair amount, not long and not necessarily good, but—but there's some good memories there and he knows he can take that to the grave. 

But he doesn't want to just die. To die and leave these bastards alive with no nightmares of him, no marks. He wants to scar them. Wants to tear them apart. He wants— _needs—_ to know, that these bastards pay, at least a little, but not for what they did to him.

But for what they did to those kids. To those villages full of innocent people.

Lee needs to know.

And so he conserves his strength, and he keeps his calm and he thinks. He focuses and meditates and lets all those monk teachings he picked up from that month in Tibet soothe him to a dreamless sleep.

Damn near oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, if you haven't figured it out, this story is about a kidnapping, so, trigger warnings apply. I kinda suck when it comes to them so I'll do my best, but, be on the lookout is all I'm saying.


	3. As Far As Possible Without Surrender

The next time he opens his eyes, he's alone. There's no guard sitting at the door, reading some paper, there's no tray of food anywhere either.

Lee takes a few bracing breaths before forcing himself up. The chains are short, hardly more than a foot long. The most he can do at any time is sit up. Sit up and try to stretch unused muscles.

He has no way to know how long it's been since he fell asleep, since the guard changed.

What he wouldn't do for a window.

The room's all concrete, thick walls that Lee knows would take a few pounds of C4 to get through. 

There's one door, solid steel, with no doorknob on this side. The chair's steel too, bolted to the floor. Hell, his chains are cemented in and bolted.

It's a curious thing really, how secure this place is. It says things.

It says, 'I'm experienced.'

'There've been others like you.'

'You'll die here.'

It whispers to him, a ghost's voice carried on the wind; distorted and pulled away before he can really grasp it.

It taunts him, is what it does. Goads him even. Mocks him. He'll die here, he knows it.  
Lee leans back against the wall, it's cold and the grit digs into the gashes left by the whip. He wonders if any of those will scar over, before he dies that is. He figures not too many. None were all that deep, the ones he felt anyway. They were superficial, carefully placed, designed to cause pain but not prolonged injury.

Prolonged meaning scarring, not hours of debilitating pain followed with days of burning fire right under bearable. 

How many times has he sat in a room just like this? Waiting for some saving grace by a god or some other optimistic shit. Hell, the team even counts as optimistic.

But the truth is, he can count the times on one hand. He really can.

Usually, if he's a prisoner, it's in some godforsaken jungle or desert hut. Or a drug king’s snazzy mansion in a 3rd world country. That hadn't been too bad.

But times he had been in rooms like this- this well staffed, guarded, and run?

One hand.

Usually, he never made it this far. They shot the bastards before they ever got close to taking down a member of the team. Even in his solo days rarely anyone ever got this close. 

And yet here he was. One hand and here he was.

The door opens then, silent as a shadow. The guard's soft footfalls on the concrete are the only giveaway. 

Lee looks up and there are two of them today. No paper. Just a tray of knives.

_Fuck._

Lee takes a breath and grins.


	4. Be On Good Terms With All Persons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double-post 'cause Gunner insisted.

"Tell me you have something," Barney says and his voice is low, riding deep in his throat like reverent words and threats..

They're all strung fucking tight but Gunner knows Barney's easily the most dangerous. Barney has more control, some moral conscience that whispers in his ear and steadies his hand when Gunner knows his would be shaking. Vibrating really. With so much rage and anguish he wouldn't even be able to feel it with how tight it'd be clenched.

It's what makes this so hard. 

They're all equally fucked, with the disappearance of Lee. The British bastard is a team member, he's family, but everyone knows he's fucking more to Barn. 

Everyone is more to Barn. 

_Especially Lee._

Sometimes Gunner thinks Barney's the luckiest among them, because he can feel that. He's been doing this longer than any of them, and he's still got his humanity held tight, not dangling by a damn thin thread. 

But then he's also the worst off, because this business isn't the place for that. This business is a deadly and cruel mistress that continually fucks them over and not in a good way.

Not for Barney anyway.

So when Trench says, "I'm sorry...but..." and trails off no one's surprised when Barney's fist collides with his face. 

No one should be anyway.

You can't still be Barney and not have Lee. The control starts slipping, the anger bleeds through and the anguish is felt. The hand shakes and everything comes loose at the seams.

"Fucking bullshit! You promised me you'd have something! You fucking _promised-"_

"Hey, hey!"

"Back the fuck off, man!"

"Fucking crazy!"

They're all pulling Barney off, and even as the guy's arms drop to his sides and he paces away, Gunner stays standing. Stays between Trench and Barney.

These two used to be rivals. And now they're friends. But Trench isn't Lee.

 _They fucking need Lee._

Not just for Barney, but because shit will start falling apart without the bastard. Nobody will be keeping it together, suicide missions will be the popular poison, and the money won't mean shit.

"You'll get something, Trench," Gunner states, staring right at Barney. He can see the slight shift in his eyes, the rolling tide of pain crashing on the flood of anger for a moment, before completely swamping those eyes and Barney turns away.

They're all worried. It's been two weeks.

Two weeks and not a damn trace of anything.

None of it makes sense.

Two weeks and there is absolutely nothing. Nothing but a room full of pissed off guys with guns.

"You'll get something," He repeats and he casts a glance over his shoulder, locks eyes with Trench and Gunner can see it there too. The same desperate determination.

"I'll get something."


	5. Speak Your Truth Quietly and Clearly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee’s as close to safe as he can be, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abandon all hope ye who enter here. The journey into hell i about to start. That shit before was just purgatory.
> 
> Also, OC (well, multiple OCs if we're being honest but only one matters) created for my own plot device. I really wanted to call it a women-in-refrigerators situation, but it's not. Like, at all.

Lee's hands shake as he tries to drink. 

He's not even thirsty but the guard wouldn't stop shoving the cup in his face.

The water's warm, but still feels good on his tongue. But as another bout of shudders takes him, the chill and the infection wreaking their havoc, the cup drops.

Water spills onto the floor and Lee slumps to his side, scoots forward and tries to lap up what he can. 

He wasn't thirsty two seconds ago. 

Lee jerks his hands up, the chains dragging across his legs heavily, and he runs a finger through the water. It clings to his skin, runs down a little, a drop of water on a mission, and seeps into dried cracked skin. 

One drop at a time.

And when he does it again, the water falls, a staggered pattern of drops, _drip, drip, drip._

He wonders if he could cling like water. Cling to things and other people.

Lee's arm shakes and he grunts as it gives out. 

Even as his limbs hit the concrete he can barely feel them.

The guard across the room is grinning at him.

xxxx

“Do you remember me, lad? That’s what you Brits say, right? Lad?” 

Lee fights the urge to vomit. His eyes see this man, but his brain can’t—can’t seem to put it together. To make it make sense. This man— _this_ is the one responsible for kidnapping him? For torturing him?

The man circles around him again, a grin plastered onto tan skin. He cleans the dirt from under his finger nails with a knife that’s so ridiculously large, it’s bordering on obnoxious.

It’s beautiful, no doubt about that. But it lacks finesse, Lee thinks. In this man’s hands at least. 

“Is that a no? Really?” The man stops in front of him, his grin quickly twisting into a vicious snarl as his foot launches out, slamming into Lee’s gut.

Lee has enough sense still to roll with it, but when the man kicks again, he’s trapped. The wall is at his back and there is nothing he can do but try to soften up before the kicks land.

He thinks he hears a rib crack.

“How do you not remember me? I’m hurt, Lee. I am very, very hurt. Don’t you remember? I mean, I didn’t change my name. I’m still the same. I know you’re different. A Lee Christmas now , instead of a Liam Harrison. How’d that come about? Have one too many bad days as Liam? Be a friend and tell me all about it. Come on, how ‘bout it?” The man stops and he fixes Lee with eyes that are blindingly blue. 

Eyes like that don’t belong on this man, a man responsible for so much blood. Those eyes should be cold, dead even. Anything but bright and nearly brimming with life and energy.

That’s what makes him so unnerving.

Lee can deal with a cold-hearted bastard, he’s seen those. But what is he supposed to do against a man who looks so damn _happy?_ Someone who looks ready to go home to a family.

“Lee,” The man sing-songs in a warning tone. “I’m getting impatient. Come on, tell me you remember me before I let ol’ George here have his way with ya. See, I take care of my friends. But George here, well, he gets the people who aren’t my friends. 

“You want to be my friend, Lee.”

The man waits, bounces on his toes for a full minute as Lee lays there, trying not to choke on his blood.

He wants to say something, anything. Test to see if this man is really real. If he really is the soldier that he fought alongside in Baghdad. 

It can’t be that man though. That man was good, was a soldier, was a friend. That man wouldn't have done the things this man has done.

“Do you. Remember. Me?” The man says, his voice dropping into a low growl, a threat, a promise of pain to come.

Lee finds himself staring past at George, who is stepping dangerously close. Lee has no doubt that George’s ‘way’ will end with him dead. 

“I guess I was wrong,” The man sighs, thoroughly put out. And his lips form a disappointed pout as he stares down the length of his knife at Lee. “I thought we were friends but, if you don’t remember me...” He starts to back away and George edges closer.

Lee can’t stop the low noise from his throat, too close to a plea. He’s scared. Fucking terrified at this point. And so damn confused. But he can’t get the words out, he can’t—

_Breathe, Lee, fucking breathe,_ he tells himself. Just breathe. 

“George, make sure he isn’t too loud.”

The man is leaving, so close to the door and George— George is right there, by his legs, a knife close and he’s—

“No,” Lee says and it doesn’t sound right, doesn’t sound like him. “No, wait! Please...Please, I know you. I remember.” 

The man stops, twirls around and then George is backing off and Lee feels his heart slow a little. But his breathing is still frantic, and George just hangs in the corner of the room. Lee’s as close to safe as he can be, for now.

“You remember?”

“Yes, just, get me up? Yeah?” 

Two guards come from the sides of the room and grab him under the arms. They’re not gentle or even smooth as they jerk him up and Lee fights the urge to cry out as his ribs try to poke through his skin. 

They stand him up between them, shouldering his weight and he’d almost thank them if they weren’t such bastards. He’s not sure he could keep his feet under him right now.

“You were there in Baghdad. You were...you were the only survivor of your unit. I found you, in that abandoned warehouse. Your Army told you to shack up with us, the SAS. You...God, what are you doing here, John?”

John Haggert laughs, smoothing his hair back with a hand. “So you do remember? Huh. Why play dumb for so long, Lee? Could’ve saved you a whole lot of pain there, friend.”

“When you’ve been starved and beaten nearly every day, you become a tad antisocial, sorry.”

“Oh, yeah,? Well, sorry about that. You see, it’s just a matter of payback you know? Giving everyone their due.”

“My due?”

“Yes, Lee, this,” John gestures to the line of guards, to the room itself and then to the chains are still around Lee’s ankles but not his hands. “Is your due.”


	6. And Listen to Others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stopped trying to quell the screams an hour ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some answers.......really, ones you weren't expecting.
> 
> This is probably one of the chapters where graphic depictions of violence come in. I don't think it's that graphic though. Probably says something about me.

Lee tries to focus on the chains digging into his wrists. He imagines the metal rubbing against his skin, slowly peeling away the layers and revealing pink skin. He thinks about the pink skin quickly turning red with blood and irritation. About the layers peeling and burning away to bloodied muscle. And he thinks about the pain too, the burn and sting of it.

He tries to focus and think about that as the knife digs deeper into his taut skin. The knife slips between his ribs and then back out, smearing blood across his torso. And then it slips again, under his ribcage and then again in a diagonal cut across his abdomen.

He stopped trying to quell the screams an hour ago. 

Haggert is in the corner, his face impassive. There’s nothing there that says he enjoys this. Nothing that says it bothers him either

Lee still has trouble connecting Haggert from Baghdad to this Haggert. Everything about the man is the same, nothing has changed, just the side he’s playing for. 

And just like he can read Lee’s mind Haggert stands and says “You can’t connect it, can you? It doesn’t make sense, does it kid?”

Haggert takes the bloodied knife from Lee’s torturer and slams the blade into Lee’s shoulder, twisting it. 

Lee screams as his vision explodes into white dots. His legs kick out at Haggert as he tries to breathe but his chest is too tight, not letting air in or out and Lee feels like his heart is ready to burst.

Haggert easily dodges the feet and smacks the hilt of the blade lightly, making it wrench, dig, and cut through skin and muscle.

“You don’t get it Lee because you’re blind. Blind and self-righteous. You think running around with your little merry band of mercenaries makes you a good guy?” Haggert waves two guards over and they grab Lee, holding him steady so he doesn’t swing on the chain. 

Haggert grabs the knife and twists again slowly. “You’re going around like a stupid dog killing whoever they say. That doesn’t make you a good guy, kid, that makes you ignorant. The truth is, Lee, the truth _is,”_ Haggert leans in close, pushing the knife in as he yells in Lee’s ear. “There are no good guys! No bad guys! There’s just you and me and everyone else.

“The whole point of the game is to play to win, Lee. Everything you do, being the CIA’s ladog, toppling, oh what are they calling it, corrupt governments? Do they still call them threats to national security? These governments that are miles from us and want nothing to do with anyone. It doesn't get you anywhere, kid! Wiping out a few terrorists doesn’t get you on the dean’s list. It doesn’t make you free of anyone else’s blood you’ve spilled, innocent or not. It doesn’t give you a fucking _halo, Lee.”_

Haggert hits the hilt again, forcing it in deeper and Lee can feel it when it tears out through his back, breaking through his skin like it’s wet paper. 

“You and I are no different than the old lady down the street or the bastard who kicks puppies.”

Lee jerks on the chain, staring at the knife sticking out of his shoulder. It looks huge from here, sharp and covered in blood and Haggert is grinning at him through lidded eyes.

Lee hisses, his throat shrinking on the words trying to force their way out of his throat. Everything has faded except the pain of his shoulder. He can’t feel the hurt of the other wounds or even the warmth of his own blood dripping off his body. The guards on either side of him don’t even feel like they’re there.

Lee kicks a little, trying to shake out the numbness. It scares him more the less he feels. He glares at Haggert, thinking off all the ways he could murder the man with a single knife, or his bare hands. “You’re wrong. I get it. You’re a fucking psychopath.” Lee’s voice is breathless, but steady, and he holds on to that. It’s the only thing he has.

Haggert only laughs, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. “Such a thick-headed-”

“What I don’t get, is why the fuck you’re doing this to me? What makes you think you’re the one to judge me?”

“I’m not judging you Lee. I’m getting revenge,”

“For what? I did nothing but save your ass!”

“That you did kid,” Haggert says before he smirks. “But, you beat me at a game of throwing knives. And that makes me mad.”

_“What?”_

“Oh, it’s petty, I know. Stupid and childish even.” Haggert waves a hand as he paces a circle around Lee, running a finger through the blood. “But I don’t like losing, kid. I told you, you gotta play to win. I lost that game, and now, I’m getting revenge. This is what happens to people who beat me.”

“Is this a joke to you?” Lee yells, kicking out again only to feel the excruciating fire of pain that runs across his chest as the knife jerks. 

“No! I told you, it’s a game. And I don’t like losing,” Haggert spits and rips the knife out.


	7. Even To The Dull and Ignorant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You the calvary?”  
> The prisoner’s American. Army, probably. “Maybe,” Lee shrugs.   
> “There any more of you?”  
> “Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback chapter. 
> 
> Have I ever said how much I hate typing out fucking html code?   
> Seriously AO3 get your act together, even a certain competitor has buttons for this. *sigh* You're still my favorite though.

Someone's lips move in front of his eyes. Rapid words that Lee can’t wrap his mind around. The lips are framed by dark hair, like a picture frame. And the smile the lips curve into is familiar, comforting.

The lips fade, replaced by dark eyes that say even more Lee can’t understand, but the voice— it washes over him, calms his mind and some of the pain fades. He can still feel the pricks at his body, the severing of skin, but it’s nowhere near as intense as it is before. 

He wonders if this is his death. The journey to Heaven, maybe, with a voice like that. Or a punishing trick before a fall to Hell.

It could just be his mind screwing with him too.

xxxx

_He presses forward, rounding the corner on his own. His buddy got shot, laid up back at the field hospital, and the others are too far back. He’s alone here, up front against the building._

_He’s more than okay with that._

_Lee whispers a hold command over the comm before skirting the edge of the building. He lets his gun hang from its strap, climbing up the side of the building on the remnants of old re-bar and crumbling concrete._

_There’s supposed to be a rebel group in here somewhere. That’s what the contractor said anyway. Lee still hasn’t decided how comfortable he is with the SAS letting a contractor call the shots but it’s not really his job to be comfortable; or ask questions or do much of anything else. He’s just supposed to follow orders, not think._

_It’s usually a lot easier that way._

_Lee climbs in a window, perches on the table underneath it on the inside and waits. He can hear voices, soft, casual dialogue._

_Someone over his comm reports that they’re in place, breaching from two sides. They’ll go on his count._

_Lee rather not have to shoot anyone, and he considers how successful he’d be at trying to talk things out. Something tells him not very._

_Then again, he doesn’t really plan on getting caught either._

_He hovers near the stairs before descending them far enough to see what’s happening on the floor below him._

_Three rebels crowded around some man on a chair, definitely not a native._

_**A prisoner, well fuck, great,** Lee thinks and debates backtracking to regroup with the guys._

_The contractor didn’t **say** anything about a prisoner, or even a foreigner. But Lee’s not really the type of guy to just leave someone in this kind of situation._

_He gives the room another once over, listens hard and tries to remember the blueprint of this warehouse._

_It’s a risk but fuck, Lee’s not heartless. Not yet._

_Lee takes a breath before moving. He angles his body and slips around the stairs to hit to floor,heading straight in. It’s easy to shoot the three guys in the skull before they even register he’s there._

_“You the calvary?”_

_The prisoner’s American. Army, probably. “Maybe,” Lee shrugs._

_“There any more of you?”_

_“Maybe.”_

_The American looks up at him, the blood dried on half his face shines even in this dim light. “I’m not an enemy.”_

_“If you don't know who I am, how do you know I’m not your enemy?”_

_“‘Cause you’re too pretty. Would you untie me already?”_

_Lee slips a knife through the bonds, but keeps the knife tip against the small of the American’s back until he gives the spiel. Name, number, unit, blah, blah, blah. Least he's not claiming to be Luke Skywalker._

_“So, Haggert huh?”_

_“Call me John.”_

_“You got a CO, Haggert?”_

_“At a base, about thirty miles west.”_

_“Alright, I’ll get you there.”_

_“Really? Do I get a gun?”_

_“Do I get an extra life?”_

_“Uh...no?”_

_“Then why the fuck would I give you a gun?”_

_xxxx_

_“You want me to what?”_

_“You heard me, Harrison.”_

_“I pick up some random pup and you want me to what, babysit him?”_

_“ **Liam.** Lee, look, do it. I don’t give a fuck what you want, the Americans don’t give a fuck what you want. He’s got information. Deal with it.”_

_Lee bites back what he wants to say, the curses and the insults and heads out._

_He’s intent on just doing a patrol. He got that stupid Haggert back to his base but now he was saddled with the man. Ridiculous._

_Of course, Haggert’s there, as soon as he steps out of the door._

_“So, Liam Harrison right? The Hitman? I’ve heard about you.”_

_“It’s just Lee and if you’re gonna tag along then you better shut up.”_


	8. They Too Have Their Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apologies nothing has been updated in awhile (awhile meaning this fandom b/c in most other fandoms I take months to update :P) Anyway, I'm having difficulties *wiggles fingers* so, yeah.
> 
> Forgive the mistakes. I tried to edit but with the laptop in "protective custody" and my phone being, well, let's just say _hard_ to type on, there's probably a few I missed.

“Damn you!”

Lee jerks to the side as someone smacks him again, his neck cracking with the force. The last bits of Baghdad slipping away.

“You stupid little fucker, how are you holding up this well?”

Lee keeps his eyes closed, tries to remember what’s going on. 

It’s getting harder. To remember names and days and situations. He knows he’s somewhere bad, with someone he knows and he knows his own name. He knows he’s Lee but when he thinks about that he gets glimpses, bits and pieces of someone else. Someone’s face, someone’s voice, someone’s touch and he can’t—he can’t put it together.

“Are you listening to me, you fucker?”

A hand grabs his skull, dull nails biting into his skin, and when his head is jerked up, Lee tries to keep it that way. But everything hurts, a sucking pain that has his limbs heavy and useless. He can’t keep his head up and he can hear the frustration in the voice before him, growling orders.

The scrape of a knife sounds off in the distance, followed by more scrapes and then the distinct chink of metal against metal, like utensils on a moving surface.

Lee’s skin prickles as something damp rubs at his skin, burning it as the cloth drags in another direction.

“I will break you, Lee. _I will break you.”_

There’s another chink of metal and then something hot and sharp is pushing through the fleshy bit of his side, right above his hip. The steel pierces through and twists inside his muscles, dragging and tearing at things it isn’t supposed to.

Someone laughs.

xxxx

He lays on his back, watching the way shadows kick across the ceiling every time the guard shifts. 

Everything hurts. He moves and it’s all sharp focused pains that zip along his nervous system. If he stays still it’s a constant dull pain, like someone’s hacking at his body with dull swords. 

If he stays still he stays conscious and that’s his goal.

Stay conscious.

Stay awake. 

The guard laughs in the corner, something in his newspaper bringing the enjoyment and he remembers John and the knives and all the blood.

And the laughing. 

He blinks in the light and the images fade but John’s laughter is still there. Still loud and solid, like he’s over his shoulder.

Why is here? He and John had only just been bashing in terrorist skulls.

When did John change?

Why and how and where the fuck is he?

Where is he and where is John?

He shifts a little, puts weight on his left side to give the bruises on his right a break. He can’t remember how he got them. Only that it was recent. And it hurt.

When he moves again so does the guard. The newspaper is forgotten as the bastard towers above him, lips moving in a question or command. He can’t tell. 

The guard almost looks concerned. 

Lee has to wonder why. He’s the one in chains, he must be the enemy. Why would the guard care?

“Lee?” The guard asks.

“Who?”


	9. Avoid Loud and Agressive Persons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Idiotas locos."

After Barney sends a knife through the guard’s throat, he has to slam a hand over his mouth as vomit tries to force it’s way out. The bile feels like it’s peeling away his teeth, the disgust and the urge to scream rolling around in his gut as he gags again, jerking to his knees with the motion. 

He crawls over to the body against the furthest wall, ignoring his team’s calls over the comm. His hand shakes as he goes to touch it’s face. What’s left of the face. Everything is so bruised and swollen Barney can hardly see the eyes. The skin itself is grey aside from a pale yellow tint and the splashes of dried brownish blood. 

Before his fingers even touch, his hand drops to the floor. Bracing himself, Barney heaves again. Tremors rack his body and he doesn’t remember ever feeling this cold, doesn’t remember ever feeling so sick, disgusted and torn apart. 

Barney breathes deep and is met with the stench of filth, blood and death. It takes everything he has to fight down the vomit again and steady his hands. 

When he looks at the body again, reaching out with a hand to touch thin, dry, skin, he makes himself remember. 

This is Lee. This is Lee.

Barney swallows and curves his hand around Lee’s head, afraid Lee will crumble to nothing but ash. 

A whine crackles over the comm but Barney hardly hears it as he leans forward into Lee’s view. “Lee?”

There’s nothing at first, nothing but dead pale eyes that are not Lee’s staring back at him. But then the eyes shift, flicker quickly before settling on Barney and Lee’s lips move; slowly at first. Barney can see Lee’s throat working hard a few times before any sound ever makes it past Lee’s throat. But when it does, it’s soft, firm, and terrifying. 

“Who?”

xxx

When Galgo skids into the room he has to dig his boots in deep to avoid falling over. The guards are getting close but Caesar and Gunner both are holding them off. Galgo finds himself praying they last just long enough for everyone to get out alive.

So he saves himself from falling over but then his boots turn to lead and he wonders if maybe he dug them in too deep. 

It’s a stupid thought, he knows, but it’s the only thing that floats around his head as he stares at Barney’s curved back. 

Barney is shaking, and there’s blood staining the floor all around him. At first Galgo thinks the blood is Barney’s. But then he realizes it’s too old for that, too dry. But it does belong to the body in Barney’s arms. 

Galgo’s arms feel heavy for a moment as he thinks of Viper, of the others. And he finds himself convinced that Lee’s still alive. Not because he’s hopeful or that there’s any proof but he just knows Lee has to be. Because he can’t afford to lose anyone else. He already lost one team.

With conviction he walks forward calmly, out of the hope Barney won’t turn and shoot him in the face, thinking him an enemy. As he gets closer he can see that Lee, or what used to be him, is indeed breathing. That he _is_ alive. 

But the only thing telling him it’s Lee is the tattoo, the one they all wear, smeared with blood on his forearm. A stain against pride and family.

Galgo swears a blue streak, keeping it whispered and in his own language so that Barney doesn’t hear him, not that his leader would even be paying attention.

He startles Barney with a hand on his shoulder but luckily does not get shot. “We have to go, the guards are coming.” 

Barney nods but doesn’t move. He shifts Lee higher in his arms and takes a few deep shaky breaths, trying to calm down.

It doesn’t work.

Galgo glances at the door and sends a message over the comm. _Start moving out._

He then walks to Lee’s other side and kneels. “We need to go. He needs help and sitting here is not helping anyone.”

Barney doesn’t make any move and Galgo sighs, feels all his suspicions being confirmed in sharp pointed thoughts. 

He hates being right. 

“Idiotas locos.” Galgo mutters to himself as he peels Lee from Barney’s grasp, ignoring the death glare he gets in return.

Lee used to be his size, but now Galgo feels as though he’s carrying a child when he stands, heading towards the door and throwing a glance down the hallway. 

Barney is on his heels and Galgo is happy to see an expression that is not defeat, even if it is rage and is directed at him. Still, they don’t have time. “Stop. Don’t say anything. You can kill me later, yes? As your fellow moron I can tell you right now, you love Lee. I know. I see it. But that’s getting in the way now. Okay? You have to turn it off and get all of us out of here. We could die and I don’t want to die. I just started liking being alive again. I even have _plans_ tomorrow. And I like you and I like my new friends and I’m sorry if it’s insensitive but I’m not letting your stupid feelings get me and our friends killed. So _go and lead us._ I have him, he will be safe.”

“Galgo,” Barney warns and Galgo can’t help but rolls his eyes.

“I told you he was alive did I not? I did not lie to you before, do I lie to you now? No. So go, go and do what I say.” 

Barney stares at him, hard for a moment, before nodding and checking the hall, signalling for Galgo to go ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double post. Yep. Because I felt Lee deserved to get the hell out of hell and Galgo get to be kinda bossy in this.
> 
> Again, please forgive the mistakes.


	10. They Are Vexatious to the Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jesus fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now we enter patchwork territory from here on out. Screw continuity.
> 
> I still hate technology. Though, I did learn that Spanish candy has some interesting names. Not that either of those things are relevent.

_Jesus fuck._

_Jesus fucking fuck._

_Jesus fucking fuckers fucking hell. FUCK._

Caesar lets his eyes dart to the other side of the plane, sees Toll looking back at him and Gunner glaring a hole into the floor of the plane. 

His gaze slides back the other way and passes over Galgo, leaning against the wall, white-knuckling one of the hanging straps. Caeser can see his lips move but he can't hear any of the words and he thinks maybe Galgo is talking so fast for once the guy's gone supersonic or some shit.

But the Spaniard's eyes are intent on something at the back of the plane and- 

Caeser closes his eyes before their drawn over to Barney again. The Boss man is...Caesar doesn't even know. 

They've seen a lot of brothers fall, be it by gunfire or knife, or some other violent manner. Hell, they've even seen non-violent deaths, guys just dropping off the map. 

But they ain't ever seen anything like this. 

They used to run through jungles, him and a couple other guys he sets time aside to think about. He'd seen a lot of prisoners back then, brutal shit really. 

There was one time, a young man, a kid really but Caesar hadn't been much older himself. Bastards had smeared this...gelatin all over him, held a lit match. 

There was nothing they could do. His face had melted off, skull showing through and Caesar can still see the black pits, after the eyeballs had bulged and exploded in the heat. 

Caesar thinks of Barney and Christmas and this whole fucking mess and he sees those pits again. 

Which brings him back to _Jesus fucking fuck._

They're all in a bad place. But when Caesar looks at Barney and Lee...it just seems darker. Darker than anywhere any of them had ever been. 

Boss flew off the handle when they said they wanted to take Lee out on a chopper. Get him somewhere for medical attention and fast. 

It was a garbled message over the radio but if Toll hadn't snatched the radio out of Barney's hand the thing would have been smashed, easy, and it would've been hell trying to get a decent connection in that fucking warehouse. 

Still, they could all tell Barney wasn't about to let anyone take Lee, it was already shocking enough that Galgo was the guy. 

So Drummer got them some top-notch cargo plane stripped of all the usual tech and replaced with medical staff but it was still... 

They're cutting it close. Caesar can feel it. And he's even sure what exactly is hanging in the balance- if it's Lee's life, or even Barney's. If it's the team's wholeness or all their sanity- just that it's there, on a thin thread. 

Caesar opens his eyes again when Toll's weapons clang against the bench as he sits down, leaning over to shoulder Caesar.

Caesar follows Toll's head jerk, looking back at Barney again. 

He's not falling apart. And he he's not shaking anymore. But there's a hatred in his eyes, a rage, so violent and intense Caesar wants to flinch just seeing it. Any man caught on the end of that gaze is a dead one. But probably not until every drop of their blood has been drained in some fucked up torture session. 

Then there's Christmas, almost as still as Barney, his chest hardly moving. And though Caesar doesn't know what half of the crap being pumped into him ss via all the IV lines, he knows that line on the monitor is far too weak. 

"What are we gonna do?" Toll husks out, voice rough with feeling. Caesar looks back at him and only sees the hard line of Toll's jaw, clenched as he stares at his fists. 

Truth is, Caesar isn't sure what to say. Toll is a logistics guy, nothing too technical or anything but he like plans as much as the next guy. An idea of where to go. And as long as he can follow the reasoning behind it, he's good. 

But there is no plan, no manual on what the hell to do when your team is in hell and you're close to losing what holds you all together. There's no guidelines to keep your sanity. There isn't even experience to fall back on. 

"We do what we always do. Survive."


	11. If You Compare Yourself with Others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so, even after 5 months or so, I still kindof hate this chapter. Regardless I feel I need it for some reason. Anyway, don't worry so much about the medical mumbo jumbo, Barney breaks it down pretty well enough. That said, I'm not a doctor. Any injuries described are ones that I believe to be plausible after extensive research and Grey's Anatomy/House watching. So yeah. But that doesn't mean I know anything.

“The physical damage isn’t too bad. Two broken ribs and three cracked ones and there was some severe swelling in chest cavity that was crushing the lungs but we removed the fluid and binded the ribs which is keeping everything in it’s place. Aside from that there are bruises on roughly 60% of his body, face, skull, arms and legs the chest abdomen and back. We’re currently working on getting the swelling in those areas to go down so we can get a real look at the damage, but we’re optimistic. 

“The real concern comes from the effects of starvation. We don’t know what he was fed, if anything, but his body had already begun to digest itself to harvest the sugar and fat needed to sustain itself.”

“Wait, wait what are you saying? His body’s _eating_ itself? For energy? Can’t you just give him a steak and be done with it.?”

“It doesn't work like that Mr. Ross. There’s refeeding syndrome to be concerned about.”

“Speak English Doc, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Alright, alright. Look, when someone is starved their body starts shutting down processes. When they start to eat again, these processes start back up, but they require certain things, things the body doesn't have anymore.”

“Because they were used up already.”

“Correct. This can lead to many different problems. The bottom line, Mr, Ross, is that your friend is at risk for convulsions, a coma, or even cardiac arrhythmias that could lead to cardiac failure.”

“You mean death.”

“Yes.”

Barney closes his eyes. It’s almost funny. They’ve all been starved before. On missions, or in war, or because they got captured. Shit happens sometimes. Granted, Barney doesn’t think he’s ever been through anything like this but...

But for the end of Lee to be because of food is ironic. In a demented way.

“Mr. Ross, does...does Lee have any family, friends? Anyone who might want to be aware of his condition and-”

“ _Why?_ ” Barney’s eyes snap open. The doctor isn't looking at him, eyes traveling around the room as the fingers around his clipboard grip tighter.

He can hear some of the guys stand up, from their chairs on the other side of the room.

“In case things need to be done. Said.”

“What things?” It doesn’t sound like him talking though he’s in his own body. What the Doctor said it— it was like something stabbed through his heart, forced his thoughts to a stuttering stop. “What. _Things?”_

The doctor looks him straight in the eye, something barney would normally give him respect for. But when the words “Things like goodbyes,” come out of his mouth, all Barney can think about is choking him.

But all he can do is stand and try not break down. 

“I believe Lee is-”

“ _Don’t say his name._ Don’t you say his name! Don’t tell me he’s going to die and then say his _fucking name!_ You don't have the right. Call his family? _I am his family!_ I’m all he’s got. Right here. Me! So don't you fucking tell me to call his family, don’t tell me he’s gonna die. You don't know him. I do. He’ll be fine. _Fine.”_


	12. You May Become Vain and Bitter

“So, you do not like the doctor, yes?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Galgo?” The only thing that keeps Barney from groaning is the fact that it would take too much effort and he’s far too tired.

Galgo seems to take his words as an invitation, sitting down next to him in the pew after forming the cross over his body.

“You’re supposed to be with the kids.” Barney moves over an inch, just to put some distance in between him and Galgo. The Spaniard still doesn’t seem to understand what personal space is, and Barney really needs him to right now. He can hardly breathe when he’s alone, his chest just gets all that more tight with any other contact.

“I am needed elsewhere.” Galgo says, voice quiet, and even when sound stops leaving his throat, his lips keep moving. Some silent prayer.

“You Catholic?”

Galgo shrugs, scratches at the back of his head. “When I need to be.”

“And you think you need to be?”

“You do not?” Galgo looks at him, really looks at him for the first time since they were in the hangar together.

Barney can see fresh dark circles under his eyes, lines around his mouth that weren’t there those few measly months ago. It tells Barney a lot. Too much even. “Lee’s not gonna die. He’s strong. He’s going to be fine. I know it.”

“I do not disagree. I do not pray for him.”

“No?”

Galgo shakes his head, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth. 

It’s the first time Barney’s seen a smile on Galgo’s face that had nothing to do with joy and everything to do with support. “No. I pray for you.”

Galgo turns away then, faces the statue of Mother Mary and stares. He’s silent for so long that Barney thinks he’s lost Galgo to whatever old ghosts the man’s offering up to God. And then he pulls at the chain on his neck, reveals a dangling gold pendant that Barney’s only ever seen flashes of.

“Do you know who this is?”

Barney shakes his head. Keeping track of his saints is something he stopped doing when he stopped keeping track of his sins. 

“It’s Saint Philip Neri. Mingo gave this to me. He called me the Neri of Spain.”

“Never pegged you for a saintly type.”

Galgo shrugs again, eyebrows climbing up to his hairline. “Too strict for my tastes.”

“So, why’d he call you that?”

“I do not know, actually. He never told me.”

“So why do you wear it?”

“It reminds me to think about the people who are left behind. Rather than just the ones close to meeting God.”

“People who aren’t Lee.”

“You have enough love and faith in him for all of us. You’re thinking about him. But tell me, Barney, who’s thinking about you?”

 

It’s just Galgo and him when Lee wakes up.

Really wakes up, for the first time.

It isn’t Lee waking only to thrash and shout, to stare with wide, scared eyes as he attacks any of those who go near him.

This time he isn’t caught in a nightmare. He’s not fighting for his life at the risk of dislocating his shoulders and tearing all his stitches.

He’s actually _awake._

And Barney knows he should say something. Knows he should be the one, not Galgo, removing the restraints but he can’t move. He can't even think.

Lee’s name repeats in his mind, over and over. Just the three letters, one after another, with the same rhythm as his heart.

He can’t hear the words Galgo says over the pounding in his ears, can’t see anything but Lee and it’s just—

It’s relief. 

“He asked for you,” Galgo says, and it sounds like it’s not the first time he’s said it. “First thing out of his mouth was your name.” 

Even with Galgo in the way, Barney can still see the top of Lee’s head, his foot that sticks out of the covers. And it’s the first time he’s really seen any part of Lee since finding him in the warehouse.

He’s spent every night in Lee’s room since then but...

Barney shakes his head, stands and finds himself hesitating. Unable to move. 

What the hell is wrong with him? It’s Lee. This is no different than any other time one of them has been spent to the hospital. It’s the same. Just go over and _talk._

But Barney can't shake off the part of him that thinks Lee’s made of glass now. That one word could shatter him. Every night, especially in the beginning, Barney sometimes forgot to breathe because it felt like an exhale of air would crumble whatever was left of Lee. Blow it all away. 

And he’s not sure if it’s the guilt or some primal need to _protect_ that has him wondering how much harm he could do to Lee if he came anywhere near.

Galgo puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezes, and mouths something at him. An old proverb by now, Barney thinks.

 _Even morons need friends._

And Barney just knows Galgo’s not talking about Lee.

It isn’t until the door shuts behind Galgo that Barney gets his ass in gear, walks right up to Lee’s bed and stands like an awkward turkey. gawking like a damn idiot.

When Lee tries to speak, nothing but wheezing air making it past his lips, all the other thoughts in Barney’s head stop.

He gets Lee a glass of water, puts the straw to his lips and sits on the edge of the bed waiting. When Lee tries to talk again, it’s not a curse or some some stupid remark that comes out of his mouth, not like Barney’s expecting. All that comes is a question.

“Tell me who you are, please?”

The hesitance is what leaves him floundering. Lee’s never hesitant, never really said please either. It’s not like Barney expected Lee to just wake up and be fine. Not after what they did to him. Not after being comatose. But he didn’t expect this— this meek version of Lee. This fragile thing that makes Barney think of baby lambs being lead to a slaughter.

And it’s the question itself that knocks the air out of Barney’s chest. And all he can think about is the afternoon spent with the doctor’s; discussing possible damages. What would need to be done. All bad news and things that spoke of Lee never being Lee again. Things that have kept Barney up every night.

Lee’s lips move again, slow and unsteady. And Barney wants to cringe at the sweat already shining his forehead, at the strain that seems to shake his chest with every word. “Make it real. Make it _real._ ”

“It’s me. It’s Barney. I swear Lee, it’s _me._ You’re not dreaming, or hallucinating. This isn’t some cruel joke. I’m here.”

Lee nods and even that is slow, measured. Like Lee has to calculate just how much strength he devotes to each movement because he knows he has a limit. 

Lee’s never had a limit before. Or, if he did, it wasn't a limit, it was an _obstacle,_ something to overcome. This is...this isn’t Lee yet. This isn’t _his_ Lee.

“Lee.” He says it just to say it. Says it because it’s been taboo all these weeks. The guys wouldn't dare say it around him and Barney eventually found himself not even saying Lee’s name aloud. It was just something he heard in his mind, over and over. It was the soundtrack to everything he did. 

But still, no one said it. As though not giving voice would somehow make it so Lee didn’t exist until he was back and better and _him._

Lee’s hand inches towards his and Barney intertwines their fingers, squeezes hard until he sees something close to relief come over Lee’s face.

“‘M tired.”

 _He sounds tired,_ Barney thinks. Lee sounds, looks, and _feels_ tired. More than tired. More than exhausted. And underneath it all Barney can see the reluctance, the desperate need to hang on to _right now_ for fear of slipping into before. 

“Sleep. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, fun fact. Apparently a Galgo is a dog. Particularly Español Galgo. They're basically greyhounds. Very friendly. With everyone. Which is just Galgo up and down, right? What gets me though, is that Galgo's are supposed to be calm and Galgo, human Galgo, is so not.
> 
> Also, Saint Neri is the patron saint of joy/humor and a bunch of other things I chose to ignore. I'm not Catholic, the closest I get is by osmosis when I watch _Blue Bloods_. I don't think Galgo really is either, or Barney. However, Rocky Balboa was Catholic - sorta - so I just carry that through most of Stallone's roles and Antonio is Spanish. So I figure, at the very least, both him and Galgo are familiar with the religion.


	13. For Always There Will be Greater and Lesser Persons Than Yourself

Lee doesn’t do so good, the next few days. 

Barney stays with him, of course, always a hand wrapped around Lee’s and they sit there through the parade of guys that come in.

Barney keeps it to the team, the real team, the small family that will only ever be Gunner, Yin, Caesar, Toll, him and Lee, no matter how many new members they add. 

And Tool. Of course.

And everyone’s careful, calm and kind. It’s a far cry from what normal is for them but then, this isn’t a normal situation either. They’ve been through hell but it's never been this bad. There’s more at stake now.

Lee’s quiet through it all. No words but hey and thanks. Even those are quiet and broken, raspy in a way that sounds like something trying to claw its way out of Lee’s throat. It’s more reminders of how fucked up everything is.

But the nights are bad, full of death grips and far away looks, silent screams and the worst shaking Barney has ever seen. 

And it’s always dark, damn near pitch black because Lee doesn't like the fluorescent lights, will only take the light of the sun or moon, or whatever lighter Barney’s flicking on even when he’s not supposed to be smoking.

There’s a list of things, it seems, that sends Lee in a panic attack or just away in his head. The lights, certain noises, knives...

That’s what really gets Barney. The one thing Lee had an intense appreciation for, a thing he worshiped in his own way. something that was extension of himself––

Was now something he couldn’t even think about without slipping back into nightmares a little. Certainly wasn't something he could bare seeing, and they learned that the hard way.

But the nights are definitely worse. When the nightmares take hold and those Velcro straps have Lee tied down to the bed, after a particularly manic day....

It’s something that won't stop flashing in Barney's mind, that image over and over, having to _cage_ someone who had already been caged for weeks.

The fact that it was Lee and the utter––

It’s just something he won't ever forget. Something he'll be lucky to not see every time he closes his eyes.

xxx

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Mr. Ross, I–”

“No. Shut up. Are you fucking serious? Do you– You have no idea what he’s been through. _No. Idea._ And you want to tell him, after all that, that his fucking _hand’s_ messed up too? That he may never open a fucking _door?_ ”

“M. Ross, please. I only said it was a possibility. Really, I should be discussing this with the actual patient. I’m only informing you because–”

“No!” Barney shouts, jabbing his finger at the doctor. He wishes it was a gun, just so this fucking doctor would shut the hell up. Intimidation game.

But then he catches the doctor’s gaze, level and undisturbed and Barney has a sudden rush of sympathy. The woman probably gets tired of people yelling at her on a daily basis. “Sorry.”

The doc snorts, rolling her eyes and giving him a tight but genuine smile. “Mr. Ross, I understand that you’re a very capable man in many, and occasionally dangerous, ways. But unlike my colleague, I am not afraid of you and I will not be running away so you can terrorize some other doctor. I want to help your friend, and I will. You can stand in my way or help me. Your choice. I’m going to win either way.”

Barney rocks back on his heels, knowing he looked scolded, eyes wide and disbelieving. There haven’t been many who’d ever shut him down like that. Hadn’t been anyone actually, not since...Lee.

Fuck.

“Fine...just....let me tell him. Then you can come in with all the,” Barney waves a hand, turning away when the doctor nodded. 

“What was that all about?” Lee asks the minute the door shuts.

Barney sighs, dropping into the chair next to Lee’s bed. Lee had just started talking again, saying more than one word and now...Barney has a feeling what he's about to say might shut down whatever progress Lee had made. Send him right back to that dark place in his head. “Lee...”

“Don’t Barney, if you’re about to say something– something that’s just gonna ruin my day. Don’t. Just fucking shut–”

“I’m sorry Lee, but–”

“-up. Just shut–”

“-they said your hand’s bad. Messed up. Damaged nerves. You might not–”

“-up. Fucking hell Baney, I don't want to–”

Barney pitches his voice louder, staring hard at Lee even though Lee wouldn’t meet his eyes. “-ever be able to hold a blade again.”

“-fucking hear— _What?_ ”

Barney closes his eyes, breathing in deeply as he fights down all his own pain and anger because right now only Lee’s matters. Only _Lee_ matters.

“The wound, to your shoulder. You said the blade went all the way through.” Barney sees the pain flash in Lee’s eyes, that very same shoulder jerking as Lee flinches and for just a moment, maybe even a breath’s second, the nightmares—the _memories_ —cloud his eyes. God, they were never gonna get past this. They were never going to move on because Lee would always carry these scars, always remember what the fucker did to him and they were always going be dealing with the damage. They were _never_ going to move past this. Lee would never fully heal never be–

 _Fuck, Barney. Get yourself under control._ “It hurt the nerves. And those run down to your hand. They don’t know–”

“I know what this means Baney, I’m not a fucking idiot I can figure it out,” Lee snarls at him, lip curling severely and his eyes are flashing but Barney just snarls right back, allowing some of the anger he’s been burying down deep to slip into his voice.

“I fucking _know._ But you need to hear it. So shut the fuck up and listen.” He lets that sink in, knowing Lee would need a minute to reign in his own anger. A lifetime maybe. Though Barney doubts even that would be enough. “It damaged the nerves. The docs don’t know how bad, they want to do surgery. Check it out and make a decision. There’s hope, hell the battleaxe of a doc you have seems pretty optimistic. And she’s going to come in here and walk you through all of it. Do you want me to leave?”

“Fuck _no_.” 

Barney blinks but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to leave anyway, just thought that maybe Lee would want the time alone. The time to deal. “I won’t. But Lee, you need–”

“If you tell me to be prepared for the worst I will fucking hit you. In the face. With a chair.”

“No. I was just going to say you need to realize that you’re still in the nightmare.”


End file.
